


Full Circle

by Anyaparadox



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, Explicit Language, Fallen Castiel, Happy Ending, Honestly don't panic about the character death it's happy I promise, M/M, Romance, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-12-03 23:45:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/704011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anyaparadox/pseuds/Anyaparadox
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean woke up looking old.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Full Circle

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all, here's a small story full of schmoopy destiel. Cross posted to ff.net as well :) I know it says major character death but it's not angsty at all, promise! Enjoy. 
> 
> I'm also on tumblr under anyaparadox! Come say hi :)

** Dean woke up looking old. **

He knew it would happen: all the hunts, and cheeseburgers, and life threatening situations would one day appear around his eyes, stories of all he’d gone through. If he lived that long, of course.

He had never exactly counted on that; he always figured he’d be luckier than most hunters are to hit forty. Some demon would finally catch him with his pants down and ruin his day. Obviously, the whole keep-coming-back thing threw a wrench in that plan, but Dean wasn’t really complaining.

He didn’t complain when his mid-section started getting softer, when the abs that had been “drool worthy” (quote via Becky) faded into a still-flat, but squishy surface. He didn’t even mention it when his hair sprouted a few silvers on the sides, or when his back started stiffening up around seven o’clock every night.

Dean had been told he’d been a complainer of an old man the one time a fucking witch had gotten to him, and he refused to become one again when he had a second chance to grow old, this time at a much slower rate. Besides, he wanted to be strong, and wise, and maybe even a bit of a pain in the ass as he got older, just like Bobby. The thought still stung, somewhere deep inside, but it had faded with time and contentment. Bobby would have wanted this for Sam and him, hell, he would have liked to have seen it.

Sure, there were still wraiths, wendigos, ghosts, and the odd demon or two around to hunt on the weekends, but the week proved uneventful, Sam and Dean working average jobs to get by on a real life. The apocalypse was over, Sam was back to normal (or as normal as one who hung around in Lucifer’s cage could get), and Cas was still around.

That was the really big miracle, of course. Castiel, the fucking badass angel, had fallen to earth for _him_. Dean Winchester. The man who had no faith, a trunk full of weapons, and a give ‘em hell attitude; the man who had helped the apocalypse start, and then proceeded to end it. 

Sounded good now; now that it was over, and Dean looked like he was one step short of being over the hill. 

Cas sat up in the bed, finally moving over to where Dean was pensively sitting on the edge. He was as fucking perfect as the day he burst into the barn, exploding with some seriously scary (aka. sexy as hell) lightning and fire. Dean didn’t have to look over to know that his blue eyes would be on him, as they always were. 

“You are troubled.” Cas was getting better at picking up on social cues. Personal space was still not his forte, not that Dean really minded anymore.

“Nah,” Dean shrugged, “let’s go get breakfast with Sam. I’m starved.”

Cas cocked his head, in _that_ way. The one where Dean heard the intense question every time _(you don’t think you deserve to be saved?)_ and couldn’t help but smiling because... well, damn. Cas had saved him, every possible way he could, every single time.

“Is your back hurting?” He asked, an almost smile flitting onto his face. Cas was particularly fond of back rubs. He never got tired of Dean’s skin, the way his muscles  bunched and melted at his touch. Receiving them was always a pleasure too, his wings relaxing the instant Dean pressed his fingers to his shoulder blades.

Dean chuckled dryly, “No. Getting old sucks.”

They were a joke, Dean sitting there feeling every brittle pain and wrinkle, and Cas: all innocence and youth, eaten up by incredible blue eyes. He may have fallen, but he never aged past the day he had taken Jimmy’s form.  

“Dean, I do not believe you are at the age that quantifies as old. You are barely fifty.”

Dean sighed, “Older than I ever thought I’d be, Cas.” _‘Older than you’_ the thought was unpleasant. He was technically only older than Cas in physical appearance, the angel trumped his age by a millennia.

“I’m glad you were wrong. I like that you’re alive.” Cas smiled. “Plus, you have a whole ‘George Clooney’ thing going on now.”

Dean glared at him, “You’ve been hanging out with Sam again.”

Castiel shrugged, “Perhaps. Do you not like me hanging out with your brother?”

“Nah, means you’ll take care of him. Can’t hang around him too long and not wanna watch out for him. It’s those damn puppy eyes.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Cas murmured, his fingers drumming on Dean’s back, “but I will always take care of Sam, of course.”

“Thanks,” Dean said, running his fingers through his hair.

Cas smiled, “Let us go eat breakfast.”

Dean stood, his back creaking at the movement. Hunting had not been kind on him; sucking dry his youth, and bringing him only memories of pain and cold motel rooms. Cas laced his fingers through his, pulling him along; Dean decided that he didn’t feel old, not like this, not with Cas leading him. Aging was not so much of a hardship when he was surrounded by people he loved, when they were safe. He supposed that hunting had been a hard life, one with incredible losses, but it had also been rewarding. 

 

***

 

Dean leaned against the Impala, impatience flooding through him. He was at the park -- **the** park, the one where Castiel had become Cas _(I am not just a hammer)_ and something unspeakably precious. He hadn’t been here in years, but this was their spot, the meet up place. Dean had even brought cheese burgers, the way Cas liked them, tons of burger and cheese, and not quite enough bun to make it acceptable as a food. The stars were out, brighter than ever; constellations moving terrifyingly close. 

Dean was happy: happier than he had been when Cas had come back after the apocalypse; happier than when Cas had fallen, declaring that _‘Dean was everything, Dean was life’_ ; happier than the day he had stood with Sam by his side in his own backyard where he exchanged simple vows with an angel, and told the world ‘fuck you, he’s mine, he’s _everything’_.

Dean didn’t think there was a happier than that.

“Dean.” The same fucking way he always said it, a benediction on his lips; sacrilege and blasphemous for an angel. His eyes were intensity, staring straight at him, measuring every inch of his soul and finding it oh-so-worthy ( _you deserve to be saved, Dean Winchester, and I will save you)._

“Cas, you took forever, man.” Dean told him, annoyance seeping out.

Cas smiled then, really smiled, illuminating up the whole world; the stars disappeared, sun rearing up beyond the horizon and bathing the world in a glorious light. Dean hadn’t seen the sun in a while, but he supposed Cas carried it inside of him in this place, that he had once called home.

“I had to watch out for Sammy, you know that.”

Dean’s smile wavered, “He’s okay?”

Castiel nodded, “Of course. I never would have left otherwise.”

Dean sighed, and Cas was there, hands resting on his cheeks. He was smiling, and Dean couldn’t catch his breath. The ring was still on his finger, and Dean supposed that was completely acceptable. Cas reeled him in, nose resting in his neck, arms wrapped around him.

Dean let himself be pulled, his own arms wrapping around Cas. He felt strong, powerful, and exactly the way he had the day he had met Castiel. Young, so young, naive, and reckless as all hell. Dean wondered why he had ever feared this for himself. Going full circle wasn’t that bad, and he had a feeling Cas agreed with him, despite the very human thought.

“Fuck, I missed you.” Dean said. There was nothing else, nothing he could possibly do to show Cas what he meant. How long it had been, how long had he waited? There were no words to explain.

“I love you,” Cas breathed, warming his neck, “I love you, I love you.”

Perhaps there were words after all, and Dean returned them fervently. Heaven exploded with color, and brilliancy, and Dean thought that perhaps this, _this,_ was everything: happiness, safety, love, Cas, and forever stretching out before him.

“Will you stay? In here, in my Heaven?” Dean knew how this worked, knew the whole deal of how asshole angels controlled everything, and everyone got a little slice to themselves.

Cas’ head tilted, as if Dean’s question was the most puzzling thing in the entire universe. “Of course I will stay, Dean. This is your choice, your place of eternal peace. That is the point of Heaven. And I choose you, Dean.”

Cas had always chosen him. When Mary had chosen Sam, and John had chosen revenge, and Sam had chosen Stanford, Cas had always chosen him. Over Heaven, over his faith, over everything he had ever known, over his wings.

“Dean,” Cas muttered, “You were worth my wings.”

“You’re dead now.” Dean reminded him. Heaven was no longer at his beck and call, he was no more angel than Dean was, and there would be no special treatment.

Cas smirked and leaned in, kissing him as if it was the only thing keeping him alive. Rough lips scorched over Dean’s, infusing every strength back into his body. Dean had kissed his lips thousands of times over the years, known his body more familiar than he his own, and still his kiss was devastating; potent and sexy, and Dean didn’t care if he was on holy grounds, he was going to rip his clothes off.

“I don’t feel dead.” Cas told him, and Dean couldn’t fucking agree more.


End file.
